Part 24
“Oh, the work is easy enough: for fifteen years you must not shave, you must not have your hair cut, you must not blow your nose, and you must not change your garb. If you serve this service, then we will go to the king, who has three daughters. Two of them are mine, but the third shall be yours.”
“Very well,” said the soldier, “I will undertake the contract; but I require in return to get anything my soul hankers after.”
“It shall be so; be at peace; we shall not be in default.”
“Well, let it befall at once. Carry me at once into the capital and give me a pile of money; you know yourself how little of these goods a soldier ever gets.”
So the little devil dashed into the lake, got out a pile of gold, and instantaneously carried the soldier into the great city, and all at once he was there!
“What a fool I have been!” said the soldier: “I have not done any service, no work, and I now have the money!” So he took a room, never cut his hair, never shaved, never wiped his nose, never changed his garb, and he lived on and grew wealthy, so wealthy he did not know what to do with his money. What was he to do with his silver and gold? “Oh, very well, I will start helping the poor: possibly they may pray for my soul.” So the soldier began distributing alms to the needy, to the right and to the left, and he still had money over, however much he gave away! His fame spread over the whole kingdom, came to the ears of all.
So the soldier lived for fourteen years, and on the fifteenth year the Tsar’s exchequer gave out. So he summoned the soldier. So the soldier came to him unwashed, unshaved, uncombed, with his nose unwiped and his dress unchanged.
“Health, your Majesty!”
“Listen, soldier. You, they say, are good to all folks: will you lend me some money? I have not enough to pay my troops. If you will I will make you a general at once.”
“No, your Majesty, I do not wish to be a general; but if you will do me a favour, give me one of your daughters as my wife, and you shall have as much money as you wish for the Treasury.”
So the king began to think: he was very fond of his daughters, but still he could not do anything whatsoever without money. “Well,” he said, “I agree. Have a portrait taken of yourself; I will show it to my daughters and ask which of them will take you.”
So the soldier returned, had the portrait painted, which was feature for feature, unshaved, unwashed, uncombed, his nose unwiped, and in his old garb, and sent it to the Tsar.
Now, the Tsar had three daughters, and the father summoned them and showed them the soldier’s portrait. He said to the eldest, “Will you go and marry him? He will redeem me from very great embarrassment.”
The Tsarévna saw what a monstrous animal had been painted, with tangled hair, uncut nails and unwiped nose. “I certainly won’t!” she said, “I would sooner go to the Devil.” And from somewhere or other the Devil appeared, stood behind her with pen and paper, heard what she said, and entered her soul on his register.
Then the father asked the next daughter, “Will you go and marry the soldier?”
“What! I would rather remain a maiden; I would rather tie myself up with the Devil than go with him.” So the Devil went and inscribed her soul as well.
Then the father asked his youngest daughter, and she answered, “Evidently this must be my lot: I will go and marry him and see what God shall give.”
Then the Tsar was very blithe at this, and he went and told the soldier to make ready for the betrothal, and he sent him twelve carts to carry the money away.
Then the soldier made use of his devil: “There are twelve carts; pile them all high at once with gold.” So the devil ran into the lake and the unholy ones set to work. Some of them brought up one sack, some two, and they soon filled the carts and sent them to the Tsar, into his palace.
Then the Tsar looked, and now summoned the soldier to him every day, sat with him at one table, and ate and drank with him. When they got ready for the marriage the term of fifteen years was over. So he called the little devil and said, “Now my service is over: turn me into a youth.”
So the devil cut him up into little bits, threw them into a cauldron, and began to brew him—brewed him, washed him and collected all his bones, one by one, in the proper way, every bone with every bone, every joint with every joint, every nerve with every nerve: then he sprinkled them with the water of life, and the soldier arose, such a fine young man as no tale can tell and no pen can write. He then married the youngest Tsarévna, and they began to live a merry life of good.
* * * * *
I was at the wedding: I drank mead and beer. They also had wine, and I drank it to the very dregs.
* * * * *
But the little devil ran back into the lake, for his elder hauled him over the coals to answer for what he had done with the soldier. “He has served out his period faithfully and honourably: he has never once shaved himself, nor cut his hair, nor wiped his nose, nor changed his clothes.”
Then the elder was very angry. He said, “In fifteen years you were not able to corrupt the soldier! Was all the money given in vain? What sort of a devil will you be after this?” And he had him thrown into the burning pitch.
“Oh no, please, grandfather,” said the grandson, “I have lost the soldier’s soul, but I have gained two others.”
“What?”
“Look: the soldier thought of marrying a Tsarévna; the two elder daughters both declined and said they would rather marry a devil than the soldier. So there they are, and they belong to us.”
So the grandfather-devil approved what the grandson-imp had done, and set him free. “Yes,” he said, “you know your business very well indeed.”
CHRIST AND THE GEESE
One day St. Peter and Christ were out walking together. St. Peter was deep in thought and suddenly said: “How fine it must be to be God! If for half a day I might be God, then let me be Peter all the rest of my days!”
The Lord smiled. “Your will shall be granted. Be God until nightfall.”
They were approaching a village, and saw a peasant girl driving a flock of geese. She drove them to the meadow, left them there, and hurried back home.
“Are you going to leave the geese by themselves?” St. Peter asked.
“Well, what?—guard them to-day! It’s a feast-day.”
“But who will look after the geese?”
“God Almighty, maybe,” she said, and ran away.
“Peter, you have heard her,” said the Saviour. “I should have been delighted to go with you to the village feast, but then the geese might come to some harm. You are God until nightfall, and must stay and watch them.”
Poor Peter! He was angry; but had to stay and guard the geese. He never again wished to be God.
CHRIST AND FOLK-SONGS
One day Christ and St. Peter were walking about the earth and came to a village. In one house folks were singing so finely that Christ stayed to listen, whilst St. Peter went on. He turned back and found Christ still at His post. St. Peter went on again, and looked back: Christ was still listening. St. Peter went on again and then glanced back a third time—and Christ was still listening. Then he went back and heard a splendid folk-song in the house, stayed a while, and went on to another house where there also was singing. There St. Peter stayed, but Christ passed on. St. Peter hurried up and looked astounded.
“What’s the matter?” asked Christ.
“I could not make out why you stopped to listen to folk-songs and passed by the house where hymns were being sung.”
“Oh, my dear son,” said Christ, “there was a good scent there in the one house where folk-songs were being sung; but there was no reverence about the house where they were chanting hymns.”
THE DEVIL IN THE DOUGH-PAN
Once a woman was kneading bread, but had forgotten to say the blessing. So the demon, Potánka,[56] ran up and sat down in it. Then she recollected she had kneaded the dough without saying the blessing, went up to it and crossed herself; and Potánka wanted to escape, but could not anyhow, because of the blessing. So she put the leavened dough through a strainer and threw it out into the street, with Potánka inside. The pigs turned him over and over, and he could not escape for three whole days. At last he tore his way out through a crack in the dough and scampered off without looking behind him.
He ran up to his comrades, who asked him: “Where have you been, Potánka?”
“May that woman be accursed!” he said.
“Who?”
“The one who was kneading her dough and had made it without saying the proper blessing; so I ran up and squatted in it. Then she laid hold of me and crossed herself, and after three livelong days I got out, the pigs poking me about and I unable to escape! Never again will I get into a woman’s dough.”
THE SUN, THE MOON, AND CROW CROWSON
Once upon a time there was an old man and an old woman who had three daughters. The old man went into the loft for some groats, and took them home, but there was a hole in the sack, and the groats were running and running out of the sack.
The old man went home, and the old woman asked, “Where are the groats?” But all the groats had dripped out.
So the old man went to collect them, and said, “If only the Sun would warm the grain, and the moon show its light on it, and Crow Crowson help me to get the groats, I would give my eldest daughter to the little Sun, and my middle daughter to the Moon, and my youngest to Crow Crowson.” So the old man set to collecting the grain, and the Sun warmed it, and the Moon shone on it, and Vóron Vóronovich helped to collect the grain.
The old man came back home and said to the eldest daughter: “You must dress nicely and go out on the steps.” So she dressed and went out on the steps. And the Sun laid hold of her. And he commanded the next daughter in the same way to dress herself finely and to stand on the steps. So she dressed herself up and went out, and the Moon seized and took away the second daughter. And he said to the third daughter, “Dress yourself prettily and stand on the steps.” So she dressed herself prettily and stood on the steps, and Crow Crowson seized her and carried her away.
Then the old man said, “I think I might go and visit my sons-in-law.” So he went to the Sun, and at last he arrived there.
The Sun asked him, “With what shall I regale you?”
“Oh, I don’t wish for anything!”
So the Sun bade his wife make a custard ready. So the daughter prepared the custard; the Sun sat down in the middle of the floor, and his wife put the pan on him and the custard was soon cooked. So they gave the old father refreshment.
Then the old father went back home and bade his wife make him a custard; and he sat down on the floor and commanded her to put the pan with the custard on to him.
“What are you talking about? Bake it on you!” said the old wife.
“Go on!” he replied. “Put it there; it will be baked!”
So she put the pan on him, and the custard stood there for ages and was not ever cooked, only turned sour. It was no good. So in the end the wife put the pan into the stove, and this time the custard was baked and the old man got something to eat.
Next day the old man went to stay as a guest with his second son-in-law, the Moon, and he arrived.
And the Moon said, “With what shall I regale you?”
“I do not wish for anything,” said the old man.
So the Moon got the bath heated ready for him.
The old man said, “Won’t it be very dark in the bath?”
“No,” said the Moon to him, “quite light; only step in.”
So the old man went into the bath, and the Moon twisted his little finger into a chink, and it was quite light in the bathroom. So the old man steamed himself thoroughly, went back home and told his wife to heat the bath at night. So the old woman heated it, and he sent her there to steam herself.
“But,” she said, “it will be much too dark to steam myself!”
“Go along! it will be light enough.”
So the old woman went. And the old man saw how the Moon had lit the place up for him, and he went and bored a tiny hole in the bathroom and thrust his finger through it.
But there was still no light in the bath, and the old woman shrieked out to him, “Dark! much too dark!” It was not any good. So she went out, brought a lamp, and enjoyed her steam bath.
On the third day the old man went to Vóron Vóronovich. He got there.
“How shall I regale you?” asked Vóron Vóronovich.
“Oh,” said the old man, “I don’t want anything!”
“Well, let us come and sleep on the perch.”
So the Crow put a ladder up and climbed up there with his father-in-law. Crow Crowson settled himself comfortably with his head under his wing. But as soon as ever the old man dropped off to sleep both of them fell down and were killed.
THE LEGLESS KNIGHT AND THE BLIND KNIGHT
In a certain kingdom in a certain land a Tsar and his Tsarítsa lived. They had a son called Iván Tsarévich, and the son had an attendant who was called Katomá Dyádka[57] of the oaken-cap. When the Tsar and the Tsarítsa had reached a great age both of them became ill, and they felt that they would never become hale again. So they called Iván Tsarévich, and said to him: “If we die, always follow Katomá’s advice, and do well by him, then you will live happily; but if you do not, you will falter and fail like a fly.”
Next day the Tsar and the Tsarítsa died. Iván Tsarévich buried his parents, heeded their advice, and always took counsel with Katomá before undertaking any enterprise.
Very soon, maybe a long time, maybe short, he grew up, and he wanted to marry. He said to Katomá: “Katomá, Oaken-cap, it is so melancholy living by oneself; I want to marry.”
“Tsarévich,” Katomá replied, “you are of the age at which you ought to look for a bride: go into the great hall, where you will see pictures of all the Korolévny[58] and Tsarévny in the world. Gaze on them carefully, and select for yourself a bride, one who pleases you, and you shall marry her.”
Iván Tsarévich went into the great hall, looked at the pictures, and he was most delighted with Anna the Fair. She was so fair that she was fairer than any princess in the world. But under her portrait there was a legend: “_He who can set her a riddle she cannot solve is to marry her. Anyone whose riddle she solves dies._”
Iván Tsarévich read the legend, and was very sad. He went up to Katomá and said: “I was in the great hall, and I selected as my bride Anna the Fair: but I do not know whether I can woo her.”
“Yes, Tsarévich, it will be hard for you; if you had to go there by yourself, you would never win her. Take me. Do what I say, and all will go well.”
Then Iván Tsarévich begged Katomá Oaken-cap to fare there with him, and pledged him his word of honour he would obey him in joy and sorrow.
So they set out on the way to seek Anna the Fair Tsarévna. They journeyed for one year, the second year, and the third year, and they traversed many lands. Iván Tsarévich said, “We have been so long on the journey and are at last approaching the realms of Anna the Fair, and still we have not thought out any riddles for her!”
“Time enough yet,” Katomá replied.
So they rode on, and Katomá saw a purse lying on the road and said: “Iván Tsarévich, there is your riddle for the Tsarévna; give her this riddle to solve: ‘Good lies on the road: we took the good with good, and set it down to our good.’ That she will never solve all her life long, for every riddle she has solved at once, for she had only to look in her magical book; and she would then have your head cut off.”
At last the Tsarévich and Katomá came to a lofty castle, where the fair Tsarévna lived. She was just standing at her balcony, and sent her messengers to meet them, to know whence they came and what was their will.
Iván Tsarévich answered: “I have come from my distant realm in order to woo Anna Tsarévna the Fair.”
This she was told, and she bade the Tsarévich be introduced into her castle: he was to set her a riddle in front of all her councillors and her princes and _boyárs_.[59] “For I have sworn,” she said, “to marry him who sets me a riddle I cannot solve: but if I guess it, then he must die.” The fair Tsarévna listened to the riddle: “Good lies on the road; we took the good with good, and set it down to our good.”
Anna the Fair took her conjuring book and searched it through for the riddle—looked the whole book through in vain. So the princes and _boyárs_ decided that she must marry the Tsarévich. But she was very gloomy over it, yet still had to make ready. But in her heart of hearts she kept thinking: “How could I postpone the date and get rid of my bridegroom?” So she decided to tire him out through severe tasks. One day she called Iván Tsarévich to her and said: “Dear Iván Tsarévich, my chosen mate, we must get ready for the marriage. Do me a small service. In my realm there stands in a certain village a great iron column: bring it to the great kitchen and split it up into little logs as firewood for the cook.”
“What do you want, Tsarévna? Have I come to cut down fuel for you? Is that my duty? Oh, my servant can see to that!” So he called Katomá, and he told him to bring the iron column into the kitchen and to hew it into small logs as fuel for the cook.
Katomá at once went, took the pillar in his two hands, brought it into the kitchen and split it up. But he kept back four iron shafts and put them into his pocket, for he thought: “Later I may make use of them!”
Next day the Tsarévna said, “Dear Tsarévich, my chosen husband, to-morrow we shall marry. I shall go in a carriage to church, and you will have a fine prancing steed given you. You must get him ready yourself.”
“I must get the horse ready! Oh, my servant can do that!”
So Iván Tsarévich called Katomá, and said: “Come into the stable and command the grooms to bring the horse out; ride it, and to-morrow I will go to church on it.”
But Katomá could see the guile in the Tsarévna’s heart, and instantly went into the stable and ordered them to bring the horse out. Twelve grooms opened the twelve locks, undid twelve doors, and led the magical horse out by twelve chains. Katomá went up to him, and as soon as ever he had swung himself on to the horse’s back the steed rose high into the air, higher than the tree-tops in the forest, lower than the clouds in heaven. But Katomá had a firm seat, and with one hand he held the mane, and with the other he fetched an iron sheet out of his pocket and struck the palfrey between the ears.
One sheet broke, then he took a second and a third; and after the third broke he was taking the fourth. The horse was so tired that it could not resist him any more, but spoke in a human voice: “Father Katomá, leave me some life, and I will come down to earth and whatever you will I will do.”
“Listen then, wretched animal!” Katomá answered. “To-morrow Iván Tsarévich will ride you to his wedding. Listen! When the servants take you into the broad courtyard, and he comes up to you and lays his hand on you, stand still: do not prick your ear. When he mounts, kneel down with your hoofs on the ground, and step under him with a heavy tread as if you were bearing a burdensome load.” So the horse sank half-dead on to the earth. Katomá, seated by the tail, hailed the grooms and said, “Ho, you there! grooms and coachmen, take this carrion into the stable.”
Next day came, and the hour for going to church. The Tsarévna had a carriage ready, and the Tsarévich was given the magical horse. And from all parts of the country the people had assembled in multitudes, countless multitudes, to see the bride and bridegroom leave the white stone palace. And the Tsarévna went into the carriage and was waiting to see what would happen to Iván Tsarévich. She thought to herself that the horse would prance him up against the winds, and that she could already see his bones scattered in the open fields.
Iván Tsarévich went up to the horse, laid his hand on its back, put his foot into the stirrup, and the magical horse stood there as though he were made of stone, and never pricked an ear. The Tsarévich mounted it, and the horse bowed deep to the earth. Then his twelve chains were taken off. And he stood with a heavy even tread, whilst the sweat ran down his back in streams.
“What a hero he is! What enormous strength!” all the people said as Iván Tsarévich paced by.
So the bride and the bridegroom were betrothed, and went hand-in-hand out of the church.
The Tsarévna still wanted to test her husband’s strength, and squeezed his hand, but she squeezed so hard that he could not stand it, and his blood mounted to his head, and his eyes almost fell out of their sockets. “That’s the manner of hero _you_ are!” she thought. “Your man, Katomá Oaken-cap, has deceived me finely. But I shall soon be even with him.”